


sewing wings with knives

by artaemin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Play, Consensous Violence, Dubious Morality, Enemies and Lovers, Hate Sex, Injury, Knife Play, Love/Hate, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Stabbing, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artaemin/pseuds/artaemin
Summary: “i don’t know if i want to beat you to death or fuck you,” hajime says.tooru’s still smirking. “both.”
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	sewing wings with knives

**Author's Note:**

> make sure to read the tags before reading this piece  
> everything happening in here is consensous   
> yes it's fucked up but who are we mortals to judge   
> have fun!!

tooru drops his head back and laughs, loud and in way so uncharacteristically sincere that hajime has never heard from him. he didn't know tooru was capable of showing emotions in normal human ways. it makes him shiver and he's not sure if it's because it’s just giving him the creeps. it pisses him off. he lifts his head from where it was buried in the crook in the other's neck. their faces are just a couple of missed breaths away. the air between them is thick and heavy. 

"what the fuck are you laughing about?" he asks. 

"iwa-chan," tooru calls, his head still thrown back. there's a surreal elegance to him, from the marble firm lines of his long neck to the smirk slowly breaking his lips. there’s a saccharine evilness lurking in the corners of his figure. "i still know you way too much."

hajime lifts his hand and traces tooru's shoulders, wraps it around his neck, and settles for burying it into his hazelnut hair. it's not a soft gesture though, there's always a trace of brutality in the lines of his palms, as if they were mortuary. tooru's smirk fades for a moment. maybe from the subtle pain settling in, maybe not.

pulling his hair a little, somewhere between not hard enough and too violently, hajime asks, "tell me what you know then."

tooru chuckles. his neck is arching back. "i know that this is not you being hard," he says, searching with his hands for a proof of his words, "but a toy you brought for me. am i wrong, iwa-chan?" he closes his hand around something hard in hajime's pants, and imagines his reaction before he can even register his words. it's accurate, after all he didn’t lie when he said that he knows him well.

hajime's grip around his hair loosens a bit while his other hand goes for his pocket. it's heavy in his hands when he takes it out. hard and long enough. he can't not notice the choked up breath that tooru takes when he sees it. the curling of his lips into a satisfied smirk is unnerving. 

"do you like it? want it in your mouth, baby?"

the question has exactly the hoped reaction. because tooru isn't the only one to perfectly know the other. the uplift corner of his lips falls at the sound of the words, and he almost grimaces as if they had a bitter aftertaste. the change is subtle, like all of what is oikawa tooru, but hajime has learned to read the smallest signals. it almost turns him on how pissed tooru looks.

"how the fuck did you just call me?" 

"i take it you still hate being called baby, do you?" 

tooru looks down at the knife in hajime's hand. it looks so cold it makes him feel feverish in return. to prove him that he’s completely unaffected by it, tooru puffs in his face. it doesn’t matter that his toes are curling, that his blood pressure is an overflowing river. he wonders if hajime can feel the burning of his skin. his hand is still where he left it before, flat and warm against hajime's pants. suddenly, he presses his palm hard. 

"i take it that i was wrong. you're also hard, iwa-chan. did you miss me that much?" 

instead of replying, hajime raises the knife and puts it against tooru's throat, the tip pricking his skin. it feels better than he remembered. having him entirely in his arms, seeing his chest moving faster as the breathing quickens and loses its regularity, feeling his hand on his cock through too many layers of clothes. the clothes are the only problem between them now. that is, if we ignore that fact that they want to kill each other.

“haven’t seen you bleed in quite some time. that’s the only thing that i missed.” he presses the knife harder against his throat and takes in the strangled sound that tooru makes. his cock twitches and tooru, being the bastard that he is, squeezes it painfully through his pants. 

“you still can’t tell a lie.” tooru says, feeling the way the knife wavers against his throat as his adam’s apple rises and falls. hajime’s grip around it is so tight that his knuckles look like they’re going to burst. a thought makes his way in tooru’s head and like a snake he can feel it wrap itself around his mind. the corners of his lips twitch. “the last time you looked hotter. you were so messed up and bloody. do you want me to ruin you again? pretty iwa-chan.”

hajime drops the knife, uncaring of where it’ll land, and brings tooru closer. “you’re a fucking bastard,” he growls against his lips before kissing him. it’s a bit messy at first, especially because said bastard keeps laughing against hajime’s lips. when tooru squeezes the other’s cock again, hajime can’t stop himself from moaning in his mouth, hot and wet and bloody. someone bit the other’s lips one too many times and now the kisses taste like bittersweet iron. when they part, a drop of blood falls on hajime’s chin and tooru leans in to lick it away, pressing his tongue flat against his skin. he licks his lips then and smiles at him.

“your blood is still my favorite part of you.”

“you don’t even like me,” hajime says. he traps his lower lip between his teeth, sucking slowly on the open cut. there isn’t enough blood yet and his face is too clean and unbeaten, but tooru has to admit that he still looks hot. it’s so annoying. he needs to fix it.

“you’re right,” he says, raises his brows and punches him. no warning. the hit lands straight on hajime’s jaw. it’s strong enough to shove his head to the side. there’s always a sort of inebriating adrenaline that comes with the first punch, the first reddening of the knuckles. as expected, with a completely unsurprised expression on his face, hajime licks his lips and spits the blood in his mouth on the floor. his teeth are tainted with crimson like he’s just bitten into a pomegranate. or someone’s flesh. it takes him a moment to get himself back, and when he turns to face tooru again, the other has taken the knife from where it had landed on the floor. “pretty toy you have here.” then, he opens his mouth and shows hajime his tongue, deeply enjoying all the subtle little changes that overcast hajime’s face. the clenching of his jaw, the focusing of his eyes, the biting of his inner cheek, the rising of his chest that never seems to fall back. however, he figures that it isn’t enough yet. sending hajime a wink, he lifts the knife and presses the blade against his tongue. 

“fuck,” hajime says. “you,” he adds a beat later. too late. there’s no way to say which feelings are the most honest ones, no way to know what about tooru makes him so painfully hard. all that he knows is that he wants to hear either of them beg. whether for pleasure or to avoid being killed it’s something he plans to figure out along the way. tooru makes the blade slide over his wet tongue. he’s drooling. 

then, a shadow falls over tooru’s eyes and in a quick motion he jerks towards hajime. he misses. or rather, hajime dodges the blow and stops tooru by grabbing his wrist. but even though he tightens his grip enough for it to hurt and twists his arm, tooru won’t drop the knife. he almost looks confused. “isn’t this why you came here today?” he licks his lips. “isn’t this why you always come back, iwa-chan?”

for a second neither of them moves, maybe not even breathes. but then hajime drops his hand and tooru’s body finishes the line of motion. except that the knife falls longer than hajime expected and, instead of going for his throat, tooru slides it under the collar of his shirt. in a quick and elegant motion, like he’s done this million of times -- and the thought rages inside of hajime, the idea of tooru with someone else -- he grabs hajime’s shirt with his other hand too and, with the help of the knife, tears it open. he doesn’t stop there though, letting the knife traces the painful hard-on through his pants. then, like the bastard that he is, he laughs at him.

hajime takes that as a sort of twisted permission, so he clenches his fist and punches him. he gets his nose and, going by the amount of pain painting tooru’s face, it could even be broken. holding his face with a hand, tooru mumbles something against the palm of his hand. 

“what did you say, baby?”

tooru snaps his head back to him and takes the hand off of his face. a blueberrish bruise is already blooming on the bridge of his nose. “do it again. i like it when your hands are ruined.” and so hajime does. he raises his fist again, gets a good look at tooru’s bleeding nose, and punches him again. harder this time. tooru’s head gets thrown to the side and a strangled noise escapes from his lips. the damage on him will soon look like a garden, but for now he just takes his sweet time admiring the chromatic explosion on that bastard’s face. which leads to him completely forgetting for a moment the most important detail. that tooru is exactly a bastard. 

hajime feels the cold of the metal graze against his burning skin before understanding what just happened. the body motion of tooru jerking towards him, the knife slitting the air in half, the blade cutting his pants and making contact with the warmth of his skin. it missed his cock, thankfully, but it cut his skin and now his inner thigh is bleeding. it fucking burns. tooru slowly draws the knife back. the silver of the blade is bleeding. bringing it to his lips, he licks the blood away. then, just because he loves to piss hajime off, he smiles satisfied. “you still taste the same.”

“i don’t know if i want to beat you to death or fuck you,” hajime says. 

tooru’s still smirking. “both.” and with that he launches himself forward once again, the cold knife pointing at the other’s exposed neck. it’s almost as if he is only half-serious about it, like it was a perverted game of tag. because when hajime stops him again, muscles all tense to grip at tooru’s arm and blocking his movement, there’s none of that man’s real strength in that blow. tooru gives in easily, sliding against his chest and ripped shirt to latch his lips to his throat, and it’s somehow worse than being stabbed. the familiarity of having his body pressed to his own, the gracious lines of his figure, the way his hands fall in the right places without having to be told to. they’ve done this a hundred of times before, sick of each other but corroding when not pressed together. 

he needs to tear his shirt off, to feel his uneven heartbeat with his palms pressed against his chest. tooru doesn’t need him to say it, he’s already undressing anyway. the way they perfectly know each other is so sickening it makes hajime’s blood boil even more. he never wanted to fall for the way this bastard moves against his body, nor the way he licks his lips before pressing his sharp teeth against his shoulder and biting hard enough to make hajime suppress a scream. when he presses their lips together hajime can taste his own blood in his mouth. 

this whole time he didn’t lose sight of the knife though, which is now dangling from tooru’s long and thin fingers. it almost looks like a toy of some sort. the blade is stained with blood. in a moment, hajime pushes tooru down, pinning him against the mattress and extricating the knife from his fingers. sitting on top of him he can’t stop himself from admiring him, but just in his little details. the way he looks hauntingly pretty, hazelnut almost reddish hair wild against the pure white of the pillow, the never leaving smirk on his crimson lips, the fact that he made him come back to him yet once again. hajime clenches his jaw. 

“this is the last time,” he says, almost growls. tooru laughs at him.

“you say that every single time, iwa-chan. but you always come back to me.” he closes his eyes, tenses his entire body and then pushes his hips upwards, pressing his own hard-on against hajime’s ass. the moan he lets out is the most sincere thing that’s been exchanged between them today. “you know,” he says quietly, like this whole thing was supposed to be a secret, “this is the closest thing to love we’ll ever have.”

without thinking twice about it, hajime punches him. once, then twice, then thrice. tooru’s hair is sprawled against the pillow, looking like a bloody halo adorning his pretty and pretty martoriated figure. his lip is bleeding and hajime’s last punch spread the blood all over his jaw. he looks like he’s just devoured something. someone. hajime looks at his own hands. the skin of his knuckles is all ruined, reddish and purple, bruised and bloody like he’s been ripping god in pieces with his bare hands. tooru is lying still, breathing hard.

when hajime allows himself to fall, soundlessly like a secret being reshaped, tooru wraps his arms around him. they stay like that for a couple of minutes, hajime pressed against tooru’s chest, with his hands caressing his spine and pressing softly into it like to count the vertebras. then, one of toru’s hand moves up, meets hajime’s hair and grabs it softly between his fingers. he guides his head until he can press his cut lips against his ear. 

“maybe this is love too.” his lip leave a trace of blood on his ear. “at last, this is love too.”

he slowly takes the knife from hajime’s hand and throws it somewhere by the feet of the bed. then, grabbing his wide shoulders with both hands, tooru whispers, “you hate me and i love that,” before biting his neck and rocking his hips up at once. the sudden friction and shot of pain traps hajime in that unexplainable pleasure that only tooru can make him feel. when the teeth leave his skin and flesh, the pain is throbbing as much as his cock. “you love me and you hate that,” tooru says, still as quiet. he can’t allow the words to be too loud and to take form, he can’t allow them to exist for more than the single instant in which they’re pronounced, the same way hajime doesn’t look at the tears he just shed while pressed against tooru’s chest and left on his skin. because he doesn’t think he’d know how to live anymore if anything of this was to change. 

before tooru can sink his teeth in him again, hajime moves his legs so that he can put a knee between tooru’s legs and press it hard against his cock. he doesn’t really know if that sound tooru lets out is a moan or a scream, but one counts for the other with him, so he’s satisfied enough. it takes tooru a few seconds to regain a crumpled piece of his composure and dig his nail in hajime’s back, dragging them all the way across his muscles and making him falter due to the pain. 

“i love you and you hate that,” he says. then, he pushes him off of himself. “you can put the same two words into so many different equations and it changes nothing.” he tries to take hajime’s pants off but because of the blood they’re sticking to his leg. that’s why he stretches to grab the knife. hajime lays still, watching. tooru has always been incredibly beautiful, an unhinged disaster of an adonis. his body moves like a river, fluid and strong. he keeps just admiring it even as tooru cuts his pants open before finally taking them off. 

“this game is so childish,” he finally says, staring at tooru slipping off of the bed to take his own pants down. the light casted from the window falls on his body like a veil of late sunrise. his messy hair look so perfectly out of place on a man so beautiful he looks like a challenge against religion. 

his hair is still soft between hajime’s fingers when tooru climbs on the bed again. hajime grabs it strongly and uses it to raise his head. he wants to see him in the eyes. because he hates them. he always has. he recalls the first time he’s them, that cold and unaffected expression, so far from everyone and everything like the world couldn’t quite grasp him. nothing’s changed since then, nothing has scratched that expression in his pupils. hajime wonders if tooru has ever looked at anything in a different way, if anything has ever touched him for real. he brings his other hand to tooru’s face and caresses his softly. his thumb is still caressing his cheek when tooru speaks.

“it’s never been a matter or love or hate between us, hasn’t it?” his voice is mellow. he rarely talks like this. “it’s never been a game either and you know that. because i don’t play by the rules.”

“you’re a fucking blasphemy, oikawa tooru.”

“and you desperately adore that. you adore that so much you’re ready to rip me in pieces because you can’t stand how much i’m in your head. you can’t wrap your little head around how you become nothing under me.” tooru closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “if i’m a blasphemy then you’re religion.”

hajime leans in and kisses him. delicate and sweet, maybe even resembling a nothing too much to be considered a kiss in the first place. when he speaks against his lips, tooru swallows down the words until there’s no more space in his lungs. “i don’t think you’ve ever loved me.” he places another gentle kiss on his lips. “i don’t think you understand what it means to love. you’re one weird man, tooru.” the hand that was still caressing tooru’s cheek stops and suddenly the grip gets so tight it hurts. “and i’m a stupid man. you did this to me because i let you.”

the grip is so hard that tears appear at the corners of tooru’s eyes. he can’t speak. not that he needs to. running his other hand through tooru’s hair, hajime says what he knows the other is thinking. “this is the most fun you’ve had in ages, isn’t it? you live for this, you damn bastard.” then, he uses his grip on the other’s jaw to raise his head higher up. he can already tell that this is going to leave terrible bruises. “it’s your fault for looking so pretty with my hands all over you.” the bruises from earlier are spread across his face. this is how oikawa tooru is supposed to look, like an open wound, never healing. like something ripped from god’s limbs. thus, it would only make him look prettier if he punched him again. 

and so, he does. letting go of the grip on his jaw in the right moment, he punches him hard enough to make his head snap and his body fall to the side. at first, the only sound in the room is hajime’s heaving breathing. he’s looking down at his hands, swollen and red, the knuckles in different stages of ruined, when tooru start laughing. a little spot of blood pools on the pillow next to his mouth. slowly, he sits back up and looks at hajime through the mess of his disheveled bangs. hajime’s insides feel just as disheveled, as if everything inside of him had been misplaced and now he had to dig his hands in his own flesh and put them back where they should be. 

“you’re right. it’s so fun to see you so desperate and pathetic.” he slowly climbs on hajime until he’s sitting on his lap, their cocks touching and skin burning even from apart. raising the knife he’s been holding and pressing it against hajime’s throat, he adds “then entertain me and maybe i’ll let you die.”

“i fucking despise you.”

“then fuck me until you break me.”

shivers run up and down his spine and he traces the lines of tooru’s body with his palms. the familiarity of it almost aches through his skin like needles. touching him has always felt like sacrificing something. the steadiness of his long neck, the elegance of his shoulders, the muscles of his arms, the shape of his back, the softness of his ass. a human body is so fragile, so vulnerable when met with stranger hands. he could break him just by touching too hard. he himself could die if tooru’s hand slipped by mistake. or by intention, either would work anyway. it amazes him how immovable this game between them has been despite all their struggles to turn each other into ruins.

tooru raises his hips and hajime positions his cock. his breathing pattern breaks when he lowers his hips and takes him in. it’s so easy that he wonders if tooru was stretching himself before he came over. for some reason the thought pisses him off. digging his feet into the mattress, hajime embraces tooru’s slim waist in a hug, and thrusts in fast and hard enough for it to hurt both of them. his muscles burn and he’s sure that the knife is digging into his flesh by now, but--

“fuck, it feels so good!” tooru screams through moans and whimpers. hajime himself would be moaning if he wasn’t biting his lips hard enough to cut them, blood spilled on his chin. because somehow it isn’t enough. he wants to have him closer, wants it to be better, to hurt more, to hurt in the terrible ways that they like so much. it’s pissing him off so much that each thrust is harder and harder. maybe tooru will break his vocal chords if they keep it up. his muscles are burning and the sound of skin slapping against skin gets broken by hajime’s loud panting. 

“pretty iwa-chan,” tooru suddenly calls for him and it makes hajime halt completely in shock. it was the tone of his voice, it was so--  _ unaffected _ . calm and collected. he certainly didn’t sound like someone whose ass is being pounded aggressively. tooru slowly drags the knife against the skin of hajime’s throat and only now he’s focused enough to notice the burning. he cut his throat. it’s nothing more than a superficial little wound but he still allowed it to happen. somehow, despite the fact that every time they say goodbye to each other they’re both as bruised and wounded, hajime has always felt like the only one losing. “why are you rushing us? i remember you being better at sex.”

“shut up, you asshole,” hajime barks out. a worked up shade of pink is spread across his cheeks and nose.

“i always only have mediocre sex. none of the men i go with can ever satisfy me, they have so many stupid limits.” he leans in and licks away the blood from hajime’s martoriated lips. when he raises his head back up, there’s a weird glint in his eyes and a satisfied obnoxious smirk on his lips. “sweet.”

“what are you trying to say?”

tooru tilts his head. he spreads his free hand across hajime’s chest, caressing the tense muscles there. the touch of his fingers is feather light until he finds his nipples and pinches one strongly. hajime whines and squirms under him. tooru shifts a bit on his lap, making sure hajime’s cock doesn’t slip out of him, and leans down. he licks his nipple, with the tip on his tongue only, as if he wasn’t sure. when he doesn’t get any reaction, he smiles, showing his annoyingly perfect pointy teeth, and takes the nub of hajime’s nippls between his teeth.

“wait-- too--”

he bites strong, strong enough for hajime to throw his head back and growl, stopping before he can make him bleed. the hand holding the knife slides down until the tip reaches the other nipple. “give me what i want, pretty boy.” he circles the nipple with the point of the knife, being what hajime hopes is careful. “give me what i want and i’ll happily die by your hands.”

“don’t you want to kill me too?” hajime’s voice is uneven and breathy. his cock is throbbing inside of tooru and he hates his body for being so painfully honest. 

“oh, darling,” tooru half-laughs, lips pressed to the aching nub. “i’ve already killed you. i’ve ruined your heart and body, my love. you’ll never love anyone anymore because of me.” and then he starts sucking his nipple while rocking his hips quickly. 

the bedsheets look like a martyr’s clothings, bloody and holy. 

tooru starts punching hajime who grips his hips and presses his nail hard enough to make him bleed. at the end, hajime drags tooru closer and they kiss and cum, as he tries to stab him but ends up stabbing their united hands, caging them together. two birds with their wings sewed together. and so they lie there and bathe in the blood pooling on the sheets. he’ll have to throw them away when he’s done throwing himself away as well. their fingers intertwine, sticky with red. chests pressed together, they’re breathing heavily, teeth gritted for the pain. 

“i’m still alive,” tooru breathes against hajime’s neck. hajime half-laughs in response.

“i don’t think either of us knows how to properly be alive.” without warning, his fingers hug the knife and draw it out. he doesn’t see much of it, as there are tears fogging up his vision. he feels warmth leave his body as tooru slides away from him and stands up. he watches him -- messy and sticky hair, fair skin washed with blood in patches and rivers where it’s flowing copiously, ass not bitten enough, firm muscles -- puts the sheets between his teeth, and tears a couple of strips of fabric from it. leisurely, he wraps one around his thigh and struggles to do the same with his palm.

“can you leave, please? i gotta call tobio-chan to patch me up.”

“does he ever ask?”

“always. not always with words. he’s afraid that i’m going to die one day. i’m not sure if i hope he might be right or wrong.”

hajime nods and gets up slowly. it takes him some time to get dressed, wondering if there’s anything more than hearts that ended up being broken this time. tendons, veins, pasts, promises. his pants are already ruined when he’s done putting his shirt back on. they don’t talk to each other anymore as he leaves his knife on the pillow before leaving the room. tooru calls tobio and sits naked on the floor counting the never healing bruises.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!   
> <3[twitter](https://twitter.com/fiirstllove)  
> 


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